memorial day shocker

Happy Memorial Day. I thought I woke up with a bad case of food poisoning or something. After complaining every 2 minutes for an hour or more, Shane figured out I was in labor. "Whatever!" I said. Even as we parked the car at the hospital, and I could barely talk or walk, I was convinced it was nothing and they'd send me home. Seven hours later, I had a little baby in my arms.




Wesley Grant Gottula (whose name wasn't decided until a good four hours after his birth) was born at 8:30 pm May 26, 2008. He clocked in at 6 pounds 12 ounces, 19 inches tall. Well, he may have been taller. The nurse couldn't get his leg stretched out so she just went with 19 inches.

He's so stinking cute. He has blond hair like his dad, and he can sleep through a hurricane like his mom. Let's hope that continues!

Fun pieces of trivia for the day:

• Cats are quite perceptive. Gabby always knows when something is up, particularly when we pack a bag or bags. She gets whiny and sits by the front door, like she's blocking us from leaving. However, when Shane fills like 3 bowls of food for her, she suddenly doesn't mind us leaving. Such is the life of a fat cat.

• I got an epidural not too long after I got to the hospital, and it felt great. We watched a movie, The Golden Compass, and blew through two hours of "labor" that way. Man, it was easy!

• I don't recommend Arby's roast beef sandwiches as an after-having-a-baby meal. I like 'em under normal circmstances. But you'd think to celebrate, we could have done better. It was the only place open when we figured out we were starving at 11 pm. Interestingly, as I've mentioned before, Shane and I had Arby's on our first date, so I suppose it's appropriate in a nostalgic way.

• We were considering naming the little guy Wesley Clark. However, after a Wikipedia peruse, it turns out Wesley Clark was a decorated war hero who ran for president as a Democrat in 2004. I guess we didn't want to go through the whole "yes we knew, and we still named him that" every time someone brought it up. Grant is also a good, presidential name. In honor of Memorial Day.

• Don't forget to bring your cell phone charger to the hospital. Or, if you have two cell phones and cell phone chargers, make sure you bring a phone and charger that match. Just some advice. We have experience in this.

That's all for now. I need some sleep. Welcome Wesley.

"steel bars," in case you're wondering

The other day I was in the drugstore and got really excited. No, Tums wasn’t on sale (although that sure would have been nice), but a Michael Bolton song came on the radio. Yes, Michael Bolton. It was one of my very favorite songs when I was a younger, and I knew every word. So picture me, dilly dallying in the aisles of Bartell’s, singing along to Michael Bolton and trying to avoid embarrassment by not getting caught singing along to Michael Bolton. It was like riding a bike. I hadn’t heard the song in years, but knew it so well back then and evidently I still know it today.

I think for all of us, when we first discover “music,” it is a pretty amazing thing. I’ll come right out and admit that the first CD I ever put on my Christmas list (and received), was New Kids on the Block, Hanging Tough, but that was not the first music I really discovered. I just wanted it since all my friends had it and I thought I had to have it. (Tangent: for the record, Joey was my favorite. BUT, to prove what kind of die-hard fan I am, when he was on Dancing with the Stars a couple seasons back I watched zero episodes. So yeah.)

Some of my other music “first loves” were Ace of Base, Mariah Carey, Vanilla Ice, and yes, Michael Bolton. Pretty tame. After the “chill” stage, I went through a country phase. No one disown me as a friend; it was fun while it lasted and I still have an appreciation for country music.

Then came the rock and roll. My first rock and roll love, and still one of my most sincere loves, was Live’s Throwing Copper. It was the first CD I actually bought with my own money. I remember sitting in my pink bedroom, curled up on my bed, listening to it on my headphones, and just melting into the music. It was euphoric.

Before I could afford CDs of my own, what I did was call up the local radio station, request my favorite song of the moment, then set up a tape in a tape recorder and wait. I’d wait wait wait until the commercial was over then hit “record.” If it wasn’t my song, darn, I’d rewind and wait until the song was over then do it again. I made some pretty choppy but eclectic mixed tapes this way.

And, I’d listen to them over and over and over again. In fact, to this day, when I hear "Buddy Holly" by Weezer, as the song ends, in my head I’ll say, “95.9 the Coast!” because that’s how it was on my tape. That’s how it’ll be engrained in my head forever. And, AFTER that song should always be "I'll Be There For You" by The Rembrandt's (theme from Friends), since that is how it was on the tape.

Then – it gets even better – I wanted to know the words. And, since we are still at the time before I could afford CDs (which had lyric books in them), and the Internet yet hadn’t caught fire (so looking it up online wasn’t an option), I’d take one of my radio-pirated mixed tapes, sit with my headphones and a notepad, and listen to one line over and over and over again, trying to figure out what the guy was saying. I’d write the line, and when I was pretty sure I had it, I’d move on to the next line. I’d transcribe songs for hours. You try transcribing "Tripping on a Hole in a Paper Heart" by Stone Temple Pilots and tell me how long it takes you.

Ahh, being a carefree teenager. Sometimes I definitely miss it! My early music loves have definitely molded me into who I am today.

However, lest you forlornly conclude that my music development ends at Stone Temple Pilots, I offer these points of rebuttal:

• I was in the concert choir in high school and not only did I greatly enjoy learning and singing "Pal Pa Haugen," a Norwegian song – in Norwegian – about Paul and his chickens, I greatly enjoyed singing it at Carnegie Hall in New York
  
• At 15, I was deeply moved by “I am a Child of God” and learned to appreciate Church music, which can inspire and touch people (read: teenage girls like me) in ways other Church stuff can’t
  
• I ran off to BYU and enjoyed passing not one but two Humanities courses, during which I discovered Beethoven’s Pastorale, which really relaxes me on Sundays
  
• My brothers and I were enjoying listening to the instrumental score of Jurassic Park with our aunt in her car one day, and she got really bored because there were no words and proceeded to give us a hard time; I will admit it’s probably still my favorite movie score (take that, Titanic!)
  

Well, that’s all for now. Isn’t it funny how one Michael Bolton song can bring back so many memories? I think you should all take out your figurative (or literal) Michael Bolton albums and enjoy a few minutes of reflection. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still knew all the words.

one of these things just doesn't belong

Do you guys ever get freaked out when you see someone in a place you don't normally see them? Where they don't fit, in your mind?

For example:

• A guy from the bus walking on 4th Avenue. I only see him on the bus. And there he was, not on the bus. Very strange.

• A girl from the gym walking on 3rd Avenue. I see this girl ALL the time -- on the treadmill, in the locker room, at the water fountain. But on 3rd Avenue? I did a double take then shuddered.

• Another guy from the gym who happens to work in my building. I'm on the elevator, just staring at him. Finally I get up the nerve, "do you work out at 24-hour Fitness?" and he says, "you sure do look familiar." Now I call him my "gym buddy." He works on the 30th floor. I'm very proud of myself for making the connection.

• A guy from my business finance class at BYU at the bus stop on 6th and Olive. I didn't even know he lived in Seattle.

• A guy from work at the Safeway. Now THAT was weird. All I could say was, "Gatorade for 88 cents... now that's a great deal!"

I remember back when I was a giddy BYU co-ed I had this problem -- kind of -- every summer and fall. During the summer, I'd be somewhere like Ocean City, Maryland, or working at the Olive Garden (which I have mentioned before is the most awesomest job ever), and I'd see someone and say to myself "no way! Dave from Comms 201!" or "it's the guy from my intramural Frisbee team!"

But, interestingly enough, it was just my mind playing tricks on me. They WEREN'T the same person. I guess my problems are getting worse, since the bulleted instances above ARE the same people, and I have to reconcile that in my head, collect myself, and move on.

I wonder what I would do if I saw someone FAMOUS on the street? Brad Pitt in the Seattle Library? "Now wait a sec... he belongs in a movie! Or a tabloid! Not at a library!" I'd flip.

But, to finish the BYU-mistaken-identity story, I'd go back to school in the fall, and have the SAME problem. I'd see people all over campus (32,000+ students, I think, at the time), and I'd be convinced I knew them from high school or 6th grade Girl Scouts or the dealership where I bought my car. It was never the case.

Which makes me wonder if we all do have a twin somewhere. And I keep running into yours on the streets of Seattle. Or maybe it's you. Oh geez, who knows.

do's and don'ts

Hey loyal readers. I thought I'd take it easy on myself and just publish some funnies for you to enjoy. It seems this week has been "baby baby baby" for me, so I thought I'd share the love. My friends at work threw me an awesome baby shower (complete with a 3-D cake, yes 3-D, that was a bear with a pacifier in his little mouth) and my friends from Church are having a party in my honor today. I've also been working on creating my birth plan, organizing the nursery, researching living wills, getting approved to donate cord blood, and on and on. So all you get are some laughs. Me and Shanester loved these. In fact, he is changing the desktop image on our home computer to one of these every week until the little (still nameless) guy is born. Thanks to Michelle, new mom of twin boys, for sending them along. If you really really love them, let me know; I have more, I just only posted seven.

Happy Saturday!

the pile grows

Just wanted to let everyone know, that as of right now (this very second), I have seven, yes seven, Sunday papers dating back to November 11, 2007, sitting around waiting to be read by me. Am I weird? Would anyone else just give up on an old unread paper and recycle it? Not me.

First off, I see a paper as money ($$$). I paid for the paper. It was delivered to my door. Not reading it would be the same as not eating a pizza delivered to my door. Right?

Secondly, when I have gotten behind in paper reading, and I finally get around to reading, I am usually so enlightened. In fact, I can almost guarantee that I’ll read about someone I know, or maybe the Church or my company or my exact neighborhood or my hometown or some family member. (Yes, although none of my family members live around here, the chances of them being in my unread Seattle Times exponentially increase as my unread Seattle Times ages.)

I guess I’m intimidated by Sunday papers. They’re huge! Sections A-J, with all sorts of long articles. I remember when I lived in Simi Valley, California, that I considered getting the Los Angeles Times, but bought one and read it and it took me like 2 hours to get through. I just couldn’t commit to that every day (so I ended up subscribing to the local Ventura County paper, a very cool paper). I’m a quick-read kinda gal. Hence the problems getting around to the Sunday papers.

So my pledge to you is this: I’ll report back when all seven get read. Currently, five of them are under my back table at work, waiting to be read on my lunch break. I’m always so busy on my lunch break, but I’ve got to make them a priority and get them read before my little life-altering experience next month takes me away from the office.

Well, I’m going to wrap up this blog and read Sunday’s paper. I'll probably read about one of you. In fact, I'm sure of it.

happy may 10!

I've been blogging a lot recently. Guess I've got lots to say!

Happy May 10! As some of you possibly know, May 10 is my absolute favorite day of the year. I LOVE it. I can't explain it. I always seem to remember things that happen on May 10. It's a magical day. May is my favorite month of the year, and May 10 is just like this perfect day where spring begins and the sun is shining and everyone is so happy that it's May and life is good and on and on.

So, in celebration of May 10, let's take a trip down Angela's memory lane and I'll fill you in on some awesome things that have happened on the May 10s in my life:

• Fifth grade. The year must have been 1990? I took a trip with the TAD ("thinking and doing") group from elementary school to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. If I had a scanner, I'd scan a pic for you of me at the top of the Statue of Liberty and you guys would all laugh my roly-poly fifth-grader-ness. Remember, this was back before anyone really was worried about "terrorism," so I got to go all the way up and look out the windows of Lady Liberty's "crown." It was awesome. I loved growing up in Maryland. I think it was my first trip on a fancy bus, too, you know, one with a bathroom in the back!

• Eighth grade. Year, maybe 1994? We were doing this project in Mr. Desjardins' Science Class where we tracked the position of the sun on an acrylic globe with a charcoal pencil. Every couple weeks we'd go outside and track the sun and see how it moved during the semester. It was very cool. I loved his class -- he is an awesome teacher. Anyone reading this from Salisbury, send your kids to Wicomico Middle and make sure they get into Mr. Desjardins' classes. He taught me to not be afraid to think. Somedays I think I should have become a scientist. He made is all seem so fascinating. I even remember him explaining to us once how police officers capture speeders.

• Tenth grade, 1996. We had "secret birthday" partners in seminary at Church and I had Trina Swanson. Her birthday is today. I'm pretty sure I made chocolate chip cookies and took them to seminary and we all celebrated. Happy Birthday, Trina.

• Summer of my BYU sophomore year, 2000. This post is courtesy one of my journals I pulled out of the closet. I was working at the Olive Garden (the best job EVER!) but decided to take a trip to the beach in the morning. Ahhh the beach. My happy place. I'm sure I took a book, found the perfect spot, and sat and read and listened to the waves and realized "this is what heaven is like." I love the beach. Here's to you, Ocean City, Maryland, for one of the best May 10s.

• Summer of my BYU senior year, 2002. I met this boy named Shane Gottula on May 3, the week before, and Friday, May 10 was the day he got the guts to ask me on a date. The funny thing is, there was this OTHER guy I totally liked, Greg, and he came over to "hang out" with me on May 10! I was hoping for a kiss or something (on May 10, that woulda been perfect!), but Greg was a loser and had bad breath and left after awhile. Then Shane found me and asked me out for the next night. On May 11, we went to Arby's and then saw the first Spiderman movie in the theater. (For the record, we got going late and Shane was upset we had to go to Arby's; he wanted to take me somewhere nice but we didn't have time.)

• 2003. This May 10 is also courtesy a journal I thumbed through this morning. (I'm a firm believer in journals.) I got out of working a lunch shift at Joe's Crab Shack (the crappiest job ever), and instead wandered into the mountains of Utah where Shane was volunteering at a Mini-Baja competition. If you don't know what that is, a bunch of mechanical engineering students in colleges around the region all build their own little four-wheelers and then compete on a mountainous terrain. Whoever does the best, i.e., their vehicle doesn't fall apart, wins. It had rained that morning, so there was mud EVERYWHERE. I wandered around looking for Shane, and finally found him. I got to watch as he helped push little racecar after little racecar out of a ditch and get mud all over himself. What a fun day!

OK, I guess that's all for now. I love May 10. Let's hope today is just as awesome as all the other May 10s. I pray the sun comes out, even just for a bit, so I can celebrate.

Happy May 10 to you all!

gravity wins, yet again

Warning: pregnancy post ahead.

The worst part about being pregnant, for me, is that I seem to have this uncanny ability to drop stuff. Over and over again. I've never been one to drop stuff before, but it happens ALL the time now.

On Wednesday at the gym, I was getting ready to take a shower and got my little shampoo and little conditioner out of my bag, gently placing them both on the bench. First the shampoo fell. I picked it up, somehow nudging the conditioner. It fell. I picked it up, somehow nudging my entire gym bag. It then fell, spilling all of the contents upside down on the locker room floor.

Holy cow, what IS this?

This girl at Church, months ago when I was first pregnant (and keeping the little gem of a secret all to myself), was comiserating with some others about the hormones of pregnancy. I recall her saying she had a tendency to break things while pregnant. I can understand why. All I'd need to do is get my hands on some fine crystal or valuable family heirloom and I know stuff would get broken.

Maybe a week or two ago, I had made my way up the 2 (3?) flights of steps to our condo, and was at the door fiddling with my keys to get in. Shane was inside, but we always lock our door. I dropped the keys. So there stood poor Angela, worn down by my gym bag, lunch box, and a shopping bag, just sitting there astonished and looking down at my feet at those dang keys. The plan was to pick them up eventually... but I needed to work up to it, I guess. In the 10 seconds or so I was staring at my keys, trying to decide my plan of attack, Shane came and opened the door. He took one look at pitiful-ole-me and laughed, "poor Angela, you would have been here all night!" Maybe he was speaking the truth. Maybe I would have been there all night. Just trying to work up the gusto to pick up those keys.

Once I dropped the keys in the car, so they were down by the accelerator. I don't know if you've ever seen a pregnant lady in a car, but there isn't much room for manuevering, much less bending over and reaching things wedged under the foot pedals. It was unpleasant. I've dropped the keys outside the car, on the way to the car, and while locking car, and I think once after I locked the car I accidentally hurled them about 5 feet. Is there a scientific explanation for this?

It seems I just have these things in my hands and I can't seem to hold them. My fingers ARE getting fatter (another awful side effect of pregnancy), but I didn't think that would make me incapable of gripping things.

I drop utensils in the kitchen, usually getting bright red sauce (spaghetti, enchilada, take your pick) all over myself, the linoleum, and the white cabinets. My hair brush just falls out of my hands in the bathroom. I drop Crystal Geyser bottles of water at work all the time (thankfully with the lid on, and I consider myself lucky that water is non-carbonated). I once lost my wedding ring behind our dresser, dropping it as I was trying to put it in my jewelry box.

Need I go on?

To limit the embarrassment, this is all for now. I do hope my internal gripping mechanism is returned when this little guy makes his appearance in 6 weeks (or less) (or more). Let's pray I don't break anything between now and then. I'll keep you posted.

find that happy place

Gabby taught me a really important lesson this past weekend. (Yes, I realize it's Thursday... it's been a heck of busy week.)

The scene, our walk-in closet; view it closely:

Do you see Homer in the back there? The Homer Simpson slippers? I bought those for Shane a couple years ago. Hilarious, I know. I love them. The eyeballs are huge. I have my own Sylvester the Cat slippers that I'll wear until the bottom soles are completely worn away, then maybe I'll start wearing Homer. Shane likes Homer, don't get me wrong, but I love slippers more I guess.

Anyway, totally not the point. See Homer? See the bag with my wedding dress in it?

Now, this image:

Yes, that is Gabby, in the deepest corner of the closet. Whenever it is eeriely quiet and Shane and I look at each other and wonder, "do we have a cat?", we undoubtedly embark on a quest to find her. We've found her here a couple times. I think it's her happy place, where we can't get to her or we just don't think to look. Where she can be all by her lonesome, catch a wink, or do some serious thinking.

I really appreciate this lesson. I think we all need our special spots, somewhere we can go to be alone with our thoughts and our goals and our prayers, somewhere we can just be us without putting on a show for anyone else.

At BYU, I had my favorite spot. It was a retaining wall, actually, but since it was beside a set of steps it was more like a concrete bench that extended out perpendicular to a terrace of plants and parallel to the steps. It was the perfect width for sitting, the perfect length for leg stretching, and the perfect spot for studying. It was behind the library, and sometimes I'd see people I knew, but more often than not, it was a spot less traveled. That is what made it a great spot. Just me.

I've been thinking a lot about this lately since "they say" in labor and delivery, a woman needs to find her "happy place" to get through it. Our childbirth class instructor told us all to imagine being at the beach. Ahhhh the beach. Another happy place. The peaceful sound of the waves, the ubiquitous squaking of seagulls, the sun on my face, the wind in my hair, the sand under my toes, a good book in my hands. How I love the beach. Just me.

May we all learn from Gabby and have our happy places. Somewhere we can just be us. If the only place you get peace and quiet is the shower or the commode, so be it. Use it as an excuse to get refuge from the day. Pray out loud. Clear your mind. Be yourself.

A for me, I'm looking forward to putting my feet up soon and thinking about the beach.

when a love of soccer spans species

OK, I read the absolute most HILARIOUS thing in the Seattle Times today, and it turns out there is a video that goes along with it (35 seconds of your life not wasted, I promise!)....

Train your fish to bend it like Beckham
By Newsday and Seattle Times staff

Nobody bats an eye when a dolphin jumps through a hoop. But a molly?

The R2 Fish School is a training system that gives you the goods to train fish from 1 to 6 inches long to go through tunnels, do the limbo, even fetch. It was developed by fish-training expert Dean Pomerleau, whose goldfish, the aptly named Albert Einstein, has mastered several tricks.

Included in the kit are an instructional DVD, training platform and 20 accessories, like a feeding wand and basketball hoop.

HAhahahahahaa! Isn't this GREAT!? I'm reminded of the part in the movie In Good Company when Topher Grace's character is talking to his fish, saying "here boy, here boy!" Well, now we know, you can train a fish! I love it.

I'm a big fan of our fishies. We've got a tankful of tetras. We have 6 at the moment, but we've had up to 12, I think. They're hilarious! There are some that are gung-ho about feeding time (similar to my obese cat), some that just chase around their friends all day, some that lounge at the bottom of the tank. I really think the little guys have personalities. When we have a big one, we give it a name, like Pisces or Aquarius. Something appropriate, of course.

The funniest thing happened a month or so ago. We recently took off the lid of the fish tank so we could reorient it on our kitchen bar-top, and we just left it open. It's a nice, open, acquatic feel. Well, this one particular night, Shane was at the sink doing something... and one of our fish dive-bombed him! Totally jumped out of the tank, whacked him in the face, then fell into the sink! Thank goodness Shane was able to retrieve him and put him back in his home... it was weird, a little scary, and a lot funny. The fish is still alive, and hasn't tried anymore "tricks" so we're grateful.

But besides the humor, I think the reason our fish mean the most to me is that we actually consider them a stepping-stone to parenthood. We got a plant first, then some fish, then a cat. With the exception of the plant (which met its demise not because of any negligence on the part of me or Shane but because of outside toddler-like forces), the fish and cat are still living. They have definitely built up our confidence.

Plus, they're so relaxing. I love 'em. Here's one of my artistic fishie pictures... also documenting a day of sun in Seattle:

I'm reminded of the part in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective where the guy with the funny accent says he loves to watch the fish, "they just svim and svim."

And, evidently, play soccer. HA!